"My dear!" protested Catherine, "'large-minded' to be indifferent to the eccentricities of—well," she closed her lips on the rest of her sentence, "two illiterate, vulgar old women," was what she had nearly said; but she left it to Margaret's imagination to finish her remark.
"While you are ill in bed, I suppose I shan't be able to get near you," she ventured. "It will be dreadful if I have to wait nearly a month before I can see that baby! It's going to be awfully dear to me, Margaret! Next thing to having one of my own."
"I couldn't wait a whole month to show it to you. I'll ask the doctor to bring you to me."
"We'll manage somehow," affirmed Catherine.
Margaret, looking rather pale, did not answer, and Catherine suddenly put her arms about her and kissed her.
"You poor child!" she said tenderly.
"I'm not a good fighter," Margaret sadly shook her head. "And there are so many, many adjustments to be made, I——"
She stopped short and bit her lips to keep back the tears that sprang to her eyes.
"At least," said Catherine encouragingly, "you seem to be coming to your ordeal, dear, with plenty of courage; and that's the main thing just now."
"Oh, Catherine, I'm willing to go through a lot for the sake of holding a baby of my own to my heart!"